


The Destroyed Letter

by lunaverserocks



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Other, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaverserocks/pseuds/lunaverserocks
Summary: During the first few weeks of Zuko's banishment, Iroh pens a letter...which he never sends. Within said letter, he blames himself and Ozai for a variety of mistakes. And Iroh's biggest mistake? Doing nothing. Watching. Waiting. And he promises to never betray his beloved nephew again. Never again.





	The Destroyed Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't something I usually do. Please have an open mind and let me know what you think at the end.

Dearest Nephew,

I know that the last few weeks have been hard, exceedingly so since your banishment. But I need you to know: I will always be there for you. For as long as I am breathing, for as long as you need or want me nearby, I will never leave your side.

But I will understand if you want nothing to do with me.

You’ve been betrayed. Betrayed by the people who were supposed to love you most. By your father. Your mother. Your sister. Even myself. And I’m done watching. I’m done waiting. And to appease my ailing heart, I need to write this down. Maybe then, you’ll believe me. Maybe then, you’ll understand…

The night of your birth was somber, sad. It wasn’t filled with joyous wails. It wasn’t filled with celebration.

You didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. You barely made a sound as your mother cupped you within her trembling arms. Even then, Ursa and the royal physicians knew something was wrong. But most importantly, even then, Ozai knew something was wrong.

The physicians inspected you and came to your aid. They tried to explain that you were premature. That you would need additional care, special encouragement. More attention and love. Patience. But Ozai wouldn’t listen.

Unwittingly, they said that you didn’t have the usual spark of a firebender, that you probably wouldn’t have Agni’s great gift. Ozai believed it shameful of his first born, his heir, his son, his _flesh and blood. _He claimed that you weren’t his, that Ursa must have defiled her vows and conceived an ill-begotten creation with another man. And, wrought with his false beliefs, he started planning. He intended to cast you over the palace walls like common garbage. To kill you. His only son.

To murder you. An infant, barely a few days old.

From the very moment you entered this world, my brother hated you. Despised you. He thought you weak. Thought you wouldn’t last the first week.

He wished for you to leave this world in your infancy. It would’ve been easier then. Easier to explain the failure he thought you were. Easier than watching your clumsy, hesitant footsteps when you thought crawling was less advantageous. Easier than watching you slip behind your peers in both academics and physical prowess. Easier than watching you embarrass him as you attempted to impress your grandfather, to receive a bit of attention when you would’ve otherwise received none.

Ozai would have succeeded that fateful night. But he was thwarted by your mother and a collection of Fire Sages. They guaranteed that you had the gift. That the spark hidden within your irises was small and just needed time. And thankfully, after a few years, their words proved true.

When you were two, you showed him that you were gifted with Agni’s great blessing. A simple ball of flames in your palm proved that you were a bender, that you weren’t as big of an embarrassment as he thought you were. And for a while, peace reigned within your family.

Azula was thriving, already a burgeoning prodigy, even as an infant. You were a firebender, a growing boy filled with curiosity and questions; normal. And with those affirmations, Ozai was happy.

But deep down, he wasn’t. He watched. He judged. Every step you took, every decision you made, every word that spewed from your mouth was closely monitored, evaluated, and sneered upon.

But he couldn’t do anything.

You were too old. Ursa was too attached. Your grandfather was watching.

So Ozai did his best to put you in constant danger, disguising his actions as training. He tried his damnedest to make you feel like you weren’t worthy of being his son. Tried his hardest to make you feel like you could never live up to his unrealistic expectations.

He forced you to do unspeakable things, things no father should demand of their son, of any other human being. He demanded that you train until your body gave out, that you push yourself beyond the physical limitations of a small boy. And you tried. With a determined look on your face, tongue poking out as you concentrated, you tried. And failed. And he watched you collapse. Smiled at your expense the moment your back was turned, the instant your shaking knees hit the floor, palms spread in the dirt as you heaved.

And when you didn’t rise, didn’t heed his barked call, he turned to your sister.

Azula was—Azula _is_—Ozai’s pride and joy. The heir he always desired, the soul he could corrupt without your usual, innocent questions.

When he asked Azula to jump, she did. When he asked her to burn your toys, surpass you academically and physically, she did. She made sure you were alone. Made sure you couldn’t gain any friends of your own. Made you feel like you weren’t worthy of friendship, of a companion your own age. And she did so with a twisted smirk on her face, very like her father’s.

You see, Zuko, unlike you, she found acceptance and love from your father. But she only received affection when she was put in the position to outperform and outmaneuver you. And to keep herself sated, she did so. Regularly.

She trained harder, pushed herself beyond her limits for days on end, mastered advanced forms in an unhealthy manner in order to supersede you. And time and time again, she managed to succeed. And received praise and encouragement for her accomplishments.

But neither you or I can blame her for that. She did what she did because of Ozai’s interference. Because she wanted affection from her father. Because if she didn’t, she knew that she would’ve fallen into the same warped trap you were in. And she couldn’t live like that, especially after being persecuted by your mother. Because unlike you, Azula struggled to garner affection from her mother.

Ursa doted on her children, lavished you both with love and encouragement. But she did not do so equally. And I don’t believe she did such things on purpose; I think she was lost and unsure. Confused and afraid. Of what Ozai had taught his daughter to do. And of what she thought Azula _could_ do.

You see, Azula found approval from Ozai when she burned your possessions, tortured and killed the stray animals you rescued, surpassed your militaristic knowledge, and dismissed tutors she thought inept. But when she did those things, she was often criticized by her mother, told that those things were wrong and inappropriate for a proper young lady.

Azula found herself torn between both parents. Ozai praised cruelty and ruthlessness; Ursa applauded compassion and helpfulness. And after a time, Azula made her decision. She saw how miserable you were because of Ozai’s harsh neglect, saw how hard it was to combat being dismissed. Saw how sad you were even with your mother’s sweet words, telling you to try again and again, to never give up. And saw how easy it was to fill the void you left in your father’s heart.

So she chose. And never looked back.

Your sister left you behind. Mocked you. Lied to you. Manipulated you however she saw fit. And your father encouraged it. And continued smiling at your expense.

Even after your mother disappeared.

Now, I know nothing behind Ursa’s disappearance other than palace rumors. At the time, I was on my way home, grieving over the loss of…well, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten. I should’ve chartered the next ship home, I should’ve been there for you the moment I sent word of…of his passing. But I didn’t.

I lollygagged. Took some time to soul-search and find myself. To figure out the person I wanted to be. For myself. And for…his memory.

I should’ve done things differently. I should’ve gone straight home, straight to my remaining relatives. Maybe then, things would be different. Maybe then, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. But sadly, things happened the way they did. We cannot change the past, no matter how much we wish we could. We cannot right wrongs, just like we cannot take back ill-thought words. We can only face our mistakes and hope that we not make them again.

And Zuko, my greatest mistake started the moment I came home. And it spiraled from there, with me grappling with my thoughts, beliefs, and family. Zuko, my dearest nephew, my greatest mistake…was watching. Was doing nothing.

For years, I watched Ozai torment his family. For years, I watched Ursa tremble, you flinch, and Azula struggle for love. And I couldn't bear to watch it anymore. I left. Went to war.

Lost more than I ever thought possible.

And when I returned home, I never thought that I would be hit with more bouts of grief. The loss of my father, the disappearance of my sister-in-law, the ascension of my brother—all of these were unexpected. All of these destroyed me in a cruel way. And I think was on purpose; I believe Ozai concocted a foul plan to debilitate me, to make me more amenable to the changes. Accepting of the unfairness of my situation.

And at the time, I was so overcome with anguish that I fell into my brother’s well-thought trap. I did nothing. I didn’t fight him for my birthright, didn’t move a muscle in his general direction. I played along, sat on his war council, and offered him guidance whenever he asked.

He kept me close, made sure I wouldn’t do anything to deny him the power he sought. But I didn’t want the throne, didn’t want the responsibility of so many souls sent to the field when I couldn’t even protect my own flesh from the atrocities of battle.

So every day, when Ozai exhausted his use of me, I retreated to my quarters. I ate, drank a plethora of expensively imported tea from conquered lands, and lost myself in my thoughts. I’m sure you don’t remember, but you used to invite me to Pai Sho games (which I knew you loathed), to teatimes (which I knew you despised), to walks around the gardens (which I knew you thought a waste of time).

For two years, I thought you were asking for these things to tease me, to appease your father. I didn’t understand why you were suddenly interested in me. But I know now. And by the time I realized it, it was too late.

Because it was_ that day._

All you wanted was to go inside, to become the prince everybody wanted you to be. To start caring for the people you would eventually lead. I couldn’t argue with your desires, couldn’t see what you truly needed—to make your father proud, to be noticed—so I allowed you in, asked that you sit at my right hand. Not say a word. Listen to the droning old men around you.

And you listened.

Until you didn’t.

Enraged and embroiled, you spoke. Retaliated.

You raised your fist, told the general that his plan was barbaric. _Treasonous_. Said that using a division of untrained troops as a diversion was the ultimate betrayal of the Fire Nation’s people.

You surprised me that day. Made me reevaluate those Pai Sho games, those teatimes, those walks.

Because, for the longest time, I thought you were a wheel tile in Ozai’s Pai Sho set, a pawn to do his bidding, a way for him to watch me even when he wasn’t nearby.

But when you said what you did, standing proud and firm, I knew that those weren’t Ozai’s words emitting from your mouth. Those were your words. That was _you_ pouring out.

Morality. Compassion. Concern for you people, for their ultimate well-being. Wisdom beyond your years. Traits Ozai did not have, and would never have because he refused to acknowledge them as strengths.

But you did. At fourteen-summers-old, you did.

I never said anything during your outburst, merely listened to your grievances, to your _correct _concerns. And as the flames behind us rose high, the heat grew unbearable in our regal robes and armor.

Guards took you away, beyond my reach. And I could only stare. At my brother. At the collection of squirming old men. At the half-smirking face of the general you dishonored. And I knew what would happen.

An Agni Kai.

And I knew who it would be against.

Your father.

But I didn’t seek you out. Didn’t warn you. I couldn’t risk being wrong. I couldn’t risk it all being another one of Ozai’s well-thought traps.

Zuko, I thought it was all for me. I thought Ozai wanted me gone, that he was threatened by my presence, that he wanted me to intervene so he could have the opportunity to publicly shame or disavow me.

So I waited.

I took my place in the front row, nearest your side of the arena. I took my place…

…and did nothing.

Waited. Watched.

I’ll never forget the sound of your knees hitting the stone or the desperation of your pleads. I’ll never forget your tears or the callous way my brother demanded you fight. I’ll never forget the heat of the attack or your scream. And I’ll never forget how my brother—_your father_—demanded that the physicians wait until the arena was cleared before they started treatment, so that every person could pass your prone form and see what would happen if they ever spoke out in front of him again.

I watched the room clear. And I did nothing when Ozai left you behind like the trash he thought you were when you were an infant.

But I did something when your father didn’t visit you or question your status, banished you instead of wishing for your health.

I thought.

While you were unconscious, breathing so shallow, making me rest my head against the mattress to make sure you weren’t dead, I thought.

Those games, teatimes, and walks, they weren’t for Ozai. They were for you and me, weren’t they, Zuko? Those trivial hours were your way of reaching out, of connecting with a member of your family who you believed similar to yourself.

And I disappointed you. Pushed you away. Turned my back on you whenever I could. Made excuses whenever I couldn’t bear the thought of spending time with my brother’s offspring, of the boy who reminded me so much of the one I had lost.

I watched Azula and Ozai torment you for years. I watched your smile fade and your desire for human kindness grow. I watched my brother publicly embarrass you, disfigure you. Banish you. And I did nothing. Merely watched.

But I can’t watch anymore. I can’t let you fall down this path. And I wish I would’ve seen it sooner, but it’s all because I discovered who you truly are during that unfortunate meeting, that dreadful Agni Kai, that day that would eventually become the worst day of your life.

And I’m not asking for forgiveness, but I’m asking that you understand an old man’s folly. I didn’t think it was my place, I wasn’t sure who you really were. And I’m so sorry, my beloved nephew, but I didn’t realize my mistake until it was too late.

But I can guarantee you: I won’t disappoint you again. Never again.

Love,

Your Uncle Iroh

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this, please click that kudos button. And if you really enjoyed it, please comment. Thank you for reading!


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